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“Yeah. They want all of this.” I smooth my hands over my curves, starting to feel ridiculous. What am I going to do next? Jerk my head from side to side and wave my hand? This is not me. “Anyway. I need to go.”
My feet are weird in my shoes, and I feel like I’m walking on the moon with giant awkward strides. Oliver was right about those drinks. They’ve hit my bloodstream and now I’m wasted.
In the club, the sudden flashing lights catch me off guard and I stumble, grabbing for the wall to stabilize myself. Instead, I find my fingers gripping the white shirt of a big dude with long flowing black hair and eyes as dark as Satan’s boudoir.
“Hey,” he says, hooking an arm around my waist and resting his hand over the crack of my ass. “Are you looking for a good time?” The fabric of my dress is thin and I’m wearing a thong. One of his thick fingers presses in between my cheeks.
Ugh. I push against his chest, wriggling to get away from him, but he’s strong. “Hey…you don’t need to go anywhere, pretty girl. I’ve got what you need right here.” He forces me closer against his body, so his cock digs into my belly. My stomach roils and my heart starts to pound in panic. I don’t want this greasy man with his weird shiny trousers and wrestling hair. I want my guys.
“Let me go,” I say, pushing again.
Before I have a chance to say another word, a big arm encircles me from behind and pulls me roughly from his grasp. I’m spun into Clay’s arms as Jimmy grabs the man by his collar and pushes him against the wall. I’m suddenly surrounded by everyone, and all of them are focused on the grabby perv, forcing me behind them so I’m shielded from what might happen.
“It’s okay,” I shout, trying to grab for Jimmy. I know he’s a fighter and he could take that dude out with ease, but I don’t want any of them getting hurt because I can’t handle my booze and am too stubborn to let them take care of me.
“It’s not okay. He had his hands all over you,” Theron growls.
Carson’s behind Jimmy, his tattooed fists balled, and I struggle against Clay’s grip again. If something happens to any of them, I’ll never forgive myself.
“Leave it, please,” I yell.
The man struggles against Jimmy’s grip, and I close my eyes, unable to watch, but then someone brushes past me and I blink, finding Oliver leading the bouncer over to deal with the situation. “This man was groping that girl. She was struggling to get away,” Oliver explains with perfect diction. In situations like this, usually the bouncer gets everyone involved to leave, but Oliver seems to have a way with him and only the handsy creep is led to the exit.
Jimmy has murder in his eyes, and Carson and Theron are still braced for violence.
I feel terrible for bringing a fun evening crashing down, but then Stefan, Russell and Tom arrive clutching the remaining cocktails. They hand them out and Jonas claps Jimmy on the shoulder for his speed and restraint, Clay grabs Carson by the neck, joking about how scrappy he used to be when he was a kid, and Gabe pats Theron’s upper arm, agreeing with him when he growls about what as asshole the guy was. Between them all, the situation is diffused, the mood is lifted, and somehow, we end up back on the dance floor, cutting loose and laughing. It turns into the best night I’ve ever had because the company is so awesome. Even Russell lets his hair down, and he doesn’t have any! And Theron manages some moves that are a weird fusion of Greek and drunk modern but none of it matters because we’re flying and happy and together.
Out of the corner of my eye, when I’m sandwiched between Tom and Clay, I catch the eye of the woman from the bathroom and wink.
My men, I growl internally.Mine.
In my drunken state, everything seems clear.
27
JONAS
The sky is crystal blue; the sun beating down with an intensity that feels uncomfortable against my skin but great for my muscles and bones. The run I did this morning to sweat out the alcohol from last night was good, but I’m used to exercising on and off all day, and lying around relaxing doesn’t sit well with me.
My clients keep texting me, asking if I can fit them in for a booking, even though my website clearly states I’m on vacation. That’s the thing with rich people. They believe their wants and needs are above everyone else's. If they need to get into shape, they expect me to be available.
Well, fuck them. Fuck them all. This week is mine.
“Allie.” Theron’s voice cuts through the quiet, and I raise my head, squinting through my aviators, looking for the girl in question.
She squints into the sunshine,propping herself up against the frame of the huge sliding doors, sipping on a soda in a large engraved glass. I’ve gotten used to the crazy colors she wears and the bright pink kimono thing currently concealing her body suits her to a T. I’m not big on understanding women’s fashion, but the robe slash dress is short and nips in at the waist, showing off her gorgeous legs and hinting at the curves beneath.
I didn’t realize that sex could make a woman sexier, but in Allie’s case, it really has. Or maybe it’s just the ridiculous amount of sleep she’s had today. I don’t think Kirsty anticipated how much interview time would be taken up with hangover recovery. Tom appears behind her, sipping his own drink, and dips his head to kiss her neck. His lips must be cold because she turns with shock and laughs brightly. He’s generally a happy guy, but after fucking Allie, he looks like he might float away on his euphoria.
And I’m next.
It sounds kind of fucked up in my head. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. Knowing I’m going to be intimate with a woman I haven’t kissed, anticipating sex with someone who’s already fucking other people. And I don’t know if it’s because of the anticipation, or the sex discussions we’ve been having, or if it’s just because I’m horny and my body’s all warm and relaxed, but I really want to fuck this girl. I mean, really. We danced like we were fucking last night at the club, and it took all of my self-control to send her to bed alone.
She chose my vibrator to use on herself.
That fact alone has provided images for my spank bank.
And my ego. I’m not used to being chosen, to being anyone's priority. I’m used to waiting in line and hoping I’ll get my fair share.
